


The Silverston Rose

by theableboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Power Bottom Sam, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-15 00:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11219073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theableboy/pseuds/theableboy
Summary: He meets Dean at a cafe when he's a month away from turning 16.





	The Silverston Rose

**Author's Note:**

> so this work was meant to be much longer. but its been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I am fairly certain I'll never finish it. 
> 
> It was based off a dream I had and sadly it didn't turn out how I wanted but hopefully someone will enjoy it.
> 
> Dean is in his late 30's and Sam is in his late teens - 16, 17

He meets Dean at a cafe when he's a month away from turning 16. Dean comes up beside him, smiling, freshly shaved and smelling like lavender.

  
"Can I get you something to drink?" He's asked, "Yeah," he chirps in response, "nothing with alcohol though, I'm underage."

"Yeah," Dean winks, "I know."

  
He gets a hot coco with whip cream and sprinkles on top. "This is awesome, thank you." He says, a flesh shade of pink masking his face.

~~~  
He wakes up to wet-mouthed kisses and a hand on his thigh. His eyes blink open, "Dean?" The man above him laughs, "No one else it can be, kid."

  
"There are multiple others it /could/ be," he replies, a smug and daring look on his face.

  
"You're 16, how many old men could you be hooking up with?"

  
"Oh, you're the only one that's old," he brings his face up, connects his mouth with Dean's, blushing slightly.

  
There's that laugh again, that undying, full body laugh that sends chills down his spine, "You're so cute, blushing over a kiss."

  
He pushes him away, rolling his eyes, "Am not!"

  
Dean bites his bottom lip and whispers, "Are too."

  
The rough hand is back on his smooth, baby soft skin, drifting over profound bones, tracing blue veins, "You're so beautiful," Dean tells him, "the prettiest boy I've ever fucked."

  
He giggles and hides his face in Dean's shoulders, "Dean, stop."  
Dean kisses his nose, "What, scared of a little dirty talk?"   
He shrugs, "Just not used to it, is all."

  
Dean falls on top of him suddenly, pushing a hand down his boxer briefs and squeezing. He's rock hard, pre-cum soaking through the cloth and Dean kisses him again. Sam swears he can almost taste himself from earlier, but he doesn't mention it, doesn't squirm away or make a face. He just lay there contently, eyes shut, enjoying the feel of Dean wrapped around him.  
~~~

  
He's 17 and he wakes up to someone throwing rocks at his window, the tap tap tap drawing him from his sleep. Somehow he already knows it's Dean. He opens the window and grits out a hoarse and annoyed whisper, "Dean, it's 11 o'clock, what are you doing here?"

  
"Shut up and get down here, I'm taking you out." Dean is grinning wide, flashing white teeth and glimmering eyes. Sam can't say no, so he tip toes with kitten quiet feet down the stairs, and when he sees Dean, he jumps into his arms, tries to scratch his way inside.

  
He feels like some dumb kid in a rom-con movie. He doesn't care.

He gets bored within an hour of driving and asks Dean If he wants a blowjob. Dean looks over and chuckles, "We'll be there soon, you little slut."

  
He stays quiet, the air and space between them close and hot. He waits, watches the yellow flashes of paint travel fast beneath his eyes. He's sure this is what it means to be in love.

  
They arrive at a lake with mountains surrounding them. Dean picks him up, spins his gangly, deer body around.

  
"A sunset, Dean, really? You plan on fucking me here, with bugs and shit all over the place?" He doesn't really sound concerned, he's more amused than anything.

  
"Don't worry, princess, I'll put a blanket down."

He ends up riding Dean because he kept worrying that something would crawl up his ass, besides the cock that was already up there, of course. Dean seems okay with it though, he's got his hands firm on his hips, pushing him back and forth, a tongue licking and biting his nipples, feet pushed up against the ground, pounding into him.

  
"Fuck," Dean groans out, "tightest thing I've ever fucked."

  
He's moaning, loud and uncaring. No one is around to hear anyway, "No one after me," He says, "promise me."

  
Dean is making these chocked off noises. He's breathing heavy and fast against his ear, grunting with every push and pull, "I promise," he answers back, "I promise."

An hour later and he's curled up on top of Dean, staring at the way the pink reflects off the water, the shades of orange painting the clouds, the trees, them... Its beautiful, he never wants to leave.

  
Dean is rubbing his back, feeling the bumps locked away there, "Did I hurt you?" He asks, moving the hand to his hole, cupping the sore pink thing.

  
He nods, "Yeah but I like it. Makes me feel real."

  
Dean chuckles, "Poetic."

  
He doesn't say anything else, just curls in deeper and tighter, stealing warmth.

  
There's a flower, he notices, nestled in the ground beside him, and its beautiful, a soft shade of purple and looks like a rose. He plucks it from the ground and sits up, staring at it.

  
"Dean," he says, "look."

  
Dean grunts and lights a cigarette. He just keeps staring.   
"It's so beautiful. Reminds me of you."

  
Dean snatches the flower from his hand, "Stop with the sap, Sam." And pushes the butt of his cigarette into it, watches the petals burn and wilt away. Sam thinks he likes it better this way.

  
He jokes, "Why do you always have to ruin everything?"

  
His hand is grabbed by Dean's, the nicotine burning his nose, "Because you ruined me." Then there's a sudden burning sensation in his wrist, and Sam looks down to see a small circular thing, stinging.

  
"Dean, what the hell." He pushes back and looks at the burn, it hurts, really hurts.

  
"Now you have something to remember me by."

On the drive back, Sam tucks the flower into his pants and the burn between his thighs.

  
~~~

  
He's 93 and they tell him hes dying. He shakes his head and doesn't seem to understand. Beside him are a bundle of nurses. He smiles at them. He still doesn't understand. 

"Take me to him," he stutters out, his voice old and worn, "take me to my Dean."

When they arrive, he asks to be left alone. There's a blanket placed around his shoulders and he clutches to it like a lifeline. They leave and he turns his gaze to the stone. He traces over the name 'Dean' with wrinkled fingertips and begins to cry.

  
Above him the sky opens up - it begins to rain.

  
Inside his coat pocket, she's there. The flower. The purple, wilted, fragile thing. She's always been there, always remained a solid part of him, the closest thing he had left of Dean.

  
He pulls it out with shaking fingers and opens his mouth, drooling.  
"At the end of the day," he digs a small hole and places her there, buries her up with the wet ground. There's a soggy kiss placed on the stone and he's still crying, hard enough he can't stop.

  
He shuts his eyes, he understands now.

  
"I will always come back to you."

  
He thinks, with a last honest smile on his face, he's finally coming home.


End file.
